Bittersweet
by Isabella
Summary: A continuation of the finale.
1. Dark

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please don't sue me.

  
  


Author's note: This is my first Alias piece. Please be gentle and don't tell me if it sucks. Also- updates are on the way. Sorry this is so short.

  
  


  
  


"Mom?" Sydney whispered in disbelief. Her eyes felt as if they were on fire as they strained to comprehend the sight before her. The woman standing in the shadows was motionless. She wasn't sure whether this was a sign of nervousness, or just the opposite, indifference. Before having a chance to decide which one would be worse for her current situation, the woman took an determined step forward. With her face now exposed in the dim light of the single suspended bulb, Sydney's heart skipped in its rhythm. 

"The time is not right for your questions," Irina said with a slightly Russian accent. "We are about to move to a more..." she paused, "comfortable location."

Sydney's eyebrows furrowed as her mother raised one hand and snapped two fingers together. A young man moved quickly into the room, holding a syringe in one hand. He quickly dispensed the contents into her arm, and left again, in one swift motion. Sydney eyed her mother, not giving away a hint of the fear she was rapidly giving in to. "Do not worry, it is a simple sedative. It will help you rest while we journey to our new destination." For some unexplainable reason, these words soothed her, and she relaxed slightly. The shock of the past week's events was too much for Sydney to bear, and she no longer found herself fighting to stay conscious. Before giving into the tiny invisible weights on her eyelids, she forced one more look at the woman she was ashamed to call her mother. For a split-second, Sydney thought she saw her smile. Then, all was black. 


	2. Awake

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please don't sue me.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Irina watched with mixed emotions as her daughter slipped into unconsciousness. She tilted her head almost imperceptibly, as she always did when she was in deep thought. A small frown marred her lips as she stared at the blood running down the girl's chin. For all the evil things she had done, and moreover, all the evil things she was still willing to do in order to get what she wanted, it still unsettled something deep inside of her to think of her daughter in pain.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a small knock at the door. She turned to see one of her men standing in the doorway, completely soaked from head to toe and shivering. "We retrieved the man from the flooded hallway, as you asked, Madame," he chattered out.

"Where is he?" she inquired.

"He has been taken to an isolated room. He has not yet regained consciousness. Should we chain him?" The man, who was barely more than a boy, was beginning to turn blue.

"No, I do not believe that will be necessary," Irina replied. "Go and help the others finish the preparations. We depart in half an hour."

"Yes, Madame," he turned to go.

"And get some dry clothes on, you look a bit chilly," the older woman said without emotion, before turning once again to stare at her daughter. The boy nodded quickly, and disappeared from sight. Irina slowly moved toward Sydney, as if afraid to wake her. She bent down and brushed a lock of horrible blue hair off her face. Her hand lingered there a moment longer than needed, and she closed her eyes, imagining a simpler time when she was adored by her husband and little girl. Of course, Irina Derevko could care less about such a thing as love, but the tiny, stifled part of her that still belonged to Laura Bristow ached for it, and nearly let out a sob at the realization that it was gone, possibly for good. Irina's eyes shot open and she jerked her hand away from Sydney's face. She admonished herself for losing control, and reminded herself that, now more than ever, it was important to keep up appearances and be strong for the men. The last thing she needed at this stage in the game was to lose the support of the KGB. With a renewed determination, she turned away from the slumped figure and walked out of the room.

As she passed the guard outside, she ordered him to keep an eye on the captive, but not to touch her. She would come back to transport her herself. She then walked down the narrow hallway to another guard. "Is he in there?" she asked, gesturing to the door behind him.

  
  


"Yes, Madame," the guard replied. She motioned for him to step aside, and entered the room. It was as dingy as her daughter's had been, but it contained a small fold-out couch, on which the captive was now resting. She glanced quickly to his unbound hands, but then put herself at ease. She could tell, without a shadow of a doubt, whether a person was asleep or just faking. This man was conked out. She strode purposefully over to him, unlike she had with Sydney. She peered down at his wet, cold form and felt an inkling of fondness for him. She had been watching the whole watery scene play out from the comfort of another underground surveillance room. She had seen this man go in search of her daughter, and almost die in the process. He intrigued her. She would have to know everything about him. 

  
  


Irina stood for a moment, pondering the possibility of whether she could do something to make this man a bit more comfortable. She looked around the room with one all-inclusive glance, and let her eyes rest on a blanket in the corner. She went over and picked it up, handling it gently as she brought it over and placed it on top of him. At her touch, he jolted and began trying to open his eyes. Irina did not flinch, because she knew that even at his best, this man would be no match for her. She took a tentative seat on the very edge of the sofa and positioned her face directly over his. As he opened his eyes, her's was the first blurry image he saw. He frowned in confusion, and a raspy sound lurched itself out of his throat in the form of, "Sydney?"

  
  


Irina smiled, accepting his mistake as a compliment. She rolled her bright green eyes affably and replied, "Not quite." At this, his own eyes slowly grew wider and he made a panicked gurgling sound in place of words. Irina called for assistance and then placed a hand on his head. "Calm down young man. I wish you no harm right now." He stopped trying to squirm out of her reach, but he still held the stricken look on his face. His focus shifted to the needle that was now in his arm. The woman was speaking again, "I think it is best that you rest now. We will meet again later." And with that, Irina got up and followed the other man out of the room. 


	3. The Ride

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please don't sue me.

  
  
  
  


Michael Vaughn was flying. His body felt weightless as he gradually regained some semblance of wakefulness. One eyelid fluttered open, the other lagging behind. He felt as if he had been asleep for years, and memories of how he had gotten that way would not come. He seemed to remember a flash of a dream, which featured someone who looked a lot like Sydney. But the face in his blurry dream did not belong to Sydney, and neither did the voice. A distant echo of it sounded in the far-off recesses of his straining mind, and he shivered with dread. Not yet having put the pieces together, he was still unaware of his surroundings, but very much aware of a possible threat. He tried to be inconspicuous as he raised his head slightly to get a better view of things around him. It didn't work.

"Ah... I see our young agent friend is waking up," a male accented voice said from somewhere behind him. "Should I give him another injection, Madame?"

"Not yet," another voice responded. It was her! The voice from his dream! He craned his neck to get a better look at the source of the mysterious voice, but he couldn't see very well yet, and was rewarded with lots of bright spots. A low chuckle found its way to his ears, followed by, "What is your name, young man?"

He couldn't have replied if he had wanted to, because of the vast desert that was his throat. He knew he needed water, but for some reason, didn't want any. Frustrated, he decided not to think any more until his muddled memory got a little clearer. Instead, he looked to his right to find a window. He appeared to be in a car, or more likely, a van. As the vehicle pulled to a brief stop, Vaughn read two American signs he could see through the tiny square of glass. They probably hadn't wanted him to do that, because the next thing he felt was a thin needle plunging into the skin of his arm. As he fought to keep his eyes open for what felt like the tenth time that day, he was startled by a sudden thought that popped into his head. "Where's Sydney?" Then, he gave in to the dark oblivion.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Almost

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please don't sue me.

  
  
  
  


Sydney awoke to the sound of a door closing. She jerked her head to the side, causing the dull ache there to worsen into a loud pounding, accompanied by a wave of dizziness. "Vaughn," she thought with panic, but then pushed the disturbing thought from her mind. She closed her eyes again and listened to the silence of the room around her. Someone was there. She could feel their presence, and a warning tingle shot down the back of her neck. 

  
  


Her senses were coming back to her now, and she could feel that she was lying on a bed. It was soft and warm, and she had to resist the urge to roll over and bury her face in a pillow. The room smelled like some kind of flower. Gardenia, maybe? She inhaled twice, then decided she was well enough to open her eyes. She did so in the direction of her noiseless visitor, and was shocked at what she found. Then she remembered what had happened. She tested her voice, "Where am I?"

  
  


"My home," the visitor answered. "One of the four I own on this continent."

  
  


"Which continent would that be?" Sydney asked, having no idea how long she had been unconscious, or how far they had traveled.

  
  


"One of the bigger ones."

  
  


"Can we not play games?" Sydney asked, disdain dripping from every syllable. Irina didn't respond. "I have questions for you," she told her mother. "And I want answers."

  
  


"I will answer your questions now, as best I can. You have waited long enough," and with that, Irina Derevko sat down on the end of the bed, awaiting the first question.

  
  


Sydney sat up, staring at the woman she had loved so very much as a child. The same woman who had caused her so very much pain and sadness, was now willing to answer any question she could think up. Sydney had imagined this moment a million and a half times, in a million and a half different ways, but nothing could have prepared her for the raw emotion she was trying so desperately to keep in now. Up until the past few months, when she had finally learned her mother's true identity, she had never once thought about having to hide her tears from her loving, charming, perfect mother. But now, sitting two feet away from the woman, she felt as though she didn't know her at all, and didn't know how she would negotiate this situation without bursting into tears at some point. Irina sat patiently, almost kindly, and waited for Sydney to be ready for this talk. "She really is an excellent actress," Sydney thought, and narrowed her eyes.

  
  


Irina caught this and said, "Whatever it is that you are thinking, tell me." And then thought for a moment before adding, "I have waited so long to hear your voice, to see your beautiful face, and I have been anxious to hear your thoughts." She averted her eyes for only a second, then regained composure again. 

  
  


Sydney was drawing a blank. She couldn't think of one question to ask the lying, conniving, deceitful, vicious Irina. All of the questions she had memorized since childhood were reserved for the compassionate, gentle, intelligent Laura. At this realization, Sydney's breath caught in her throat, and she could barely hold back the tears threatening to overflow from her welling eyes, as she grieved for the mother she had lost, yet had never really had to begin with.

  
  


Irina watched as her only daughter choked back tears, and for the first time in decades, she wished she had the ability to cry. She had perfected the talent of hiding her feelings so well over the years, she feared she had stopped having them altogether. She seldom thought about the years she had spent as a loyal wife and loving mother. She banished all thoughts of that happiness from her mind, and vowed to become a new, improved Irina: the kind of agent that would be strong enough not to let petty things like passion and hope distract her.

  
  


Suddenly, a beeper clipped to Irina's belt went off. She gasped slightly, and looked down to read the 911 number. "I'm sorry Sydney, but I have to take this." She got up and moved toward the door, not looking back at her daughter's face, but feeling quite relieved at the momentary distraction. "Maybe there is a god," she thought, and left the room.

  
  
  
  



	5. Alive

Disclaimer: Please don't sue me, I own nothing.

  
  
  
  


Jack stared blindly at the open book in front of him. He saw the words printed on the page, but for some reason, his brain was having a hard time comprehending their meaning. He blinked once, when things got fuzzy, and then gave up altogether, shutting the book with a thump. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He glanced at his watch. 3:14 a.m. He stifled a groan and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had been trying to read his favorite book for the last half hour, but to no avail. He couldn't help but think about Sydney. She hadn't checked in with him like she was supposed to, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Jumping to conclusions wouldn't do any good. He was almost shocked at the near panic he felt at the thought of his daughter being in danger, or hurt, or...something he'd rather not think about. He really had gotten soft. In a moment of exhausted clarity, he realized that he had always been a softy when it came to Sydney. In a flash, he saw himself weeping in delight the night of her birth. He shook the image from his mind. That had been one of the only two times he had cried in his adult life. In an effort to avoid thinking of the other, he began self-analyzing his actions throughout Sydney's life. When she was little, he had been the perfect father, and she had been "Daddy's little angel." But after... he had stopped being affectionate completely. He never hugged her or planted tiny kisses in her hair, as he had so often in the past. As time went on, he distanced himself in other ways. He had always thought that, if something happened to him, it would be easier on her if she had fewer fond memories to grieve over. In his mind, he had only hurt her to avoid causing her pain. But now, things were different. She had experienced more pain in her young life than he would've ever thought possible. He was even a little bitter, since he had sacrificed his relationship with her to keep her from the kind of danger she now encountered daily. Oh how cruel fate can be, he thought as he sighed. He couldn't deny his pride in her, either. She was strong, brave, beautiful, intelligent, charming, and still every bit "Daddy's little angel." The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, but he caught himself and forced them back down. It would do no good, he reminded himself, to get emotional at this point. A mocking voice reverberated inside his head that he already was, but he ignored it. 

He cast a furtive glance three rows behind him, to Will Tippin's aisle seat. Hastily bandaged, with dried blood peeking up from the collar of the jacket Jack had given him, he sat sound asleep. Jack sighed and turned back around. He felt something unusual for this boy who had endured hours upon hours of brutal torture for his daughter's sake. What was it? It wasn't something Jack felt often. It was on the tip of his mind. Was it....? Ah, yes, it was respect. Jack almost grinned as he realized that he kind of liked the boy. The boy that obviously had more than friendly feelings for his little girl. Jack frowned. Well, perhaps "like" was too strong of a word. 

He was lost in his thoughts when the flight attendant approached him. "Sir, I'm sorry, but I noticed that you seemed to be a bit uncomfortable. I thought you might like a fresh pillow and maybe a drink," the pretty redhead said, as she rested her hand on Jack's shoulder. Jack looked up, amused. She was flirting with him. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, handing him a pillow.

"Thank you. I'll have a scotch." The girl smiled even bigger, winked, then squeezed his shoulder as she walked off. Jack switched the lumpy pillow behind his head for the new one. He felt a sharp poke in his side and turned to the person next to him, an annoyed expression on his face. "Excuse me, but would you mind..."he started.

"Yes I mind, I mind very much," the very elderly lady said. Jack closed his mouth and stared at her. "I hope you're not thinking of pursuing that young lady over there," she gestured in the general direction of the flight attendant, with a withered hand. "Why, she must be thirty years younger than you. It's not proper, I say. It's just not proper." Jack raised his eyebrows, again amused. "And furthermore, I would appreciate it greatly if you could manage to keep your ample self on your side of the arm-rest."

"I'm sorry, are you implying that I'm fat?" Jack asked in disbelief, the amused look slowly ebbing.

"Take it however you'd like, Porky, just scoot over," she said, and poked him again. He flinched and opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off. "Oh, and you don't mind if I turn this pesky little light off, do you?"she said, before reaching up to flick the switch on the overhead light. She didn't wait for a response, she just turned toward the window, and went back to sleep. 

Jack now sat in the dark, squished into one side of his seat, waiting for his drink, and feeling more uncomfortable than ever. He looked down at his watch. 3:16 a.m. This time, he didn't bother to stifle the groan.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

  
  
  
  


As soon as Irina left the room, Sydney was up off the bed. She swayed for a second, letting the blood rush from her head, before walking over to the door. She got down on her hands and knees and tried to peek under the tiny crack, but she couldn't make anything out. She got up again and took a deep breath before gently trying the knob. If someone was on the other side, it was best if they didn't know she was there. The knob didn't give, and Sydney let go and backed away from the locked door. Her eyes darted around the strange room, taking everything in. She noticed it had only one small vent, and the two windows on either side of the bed had bars on them. She walked over to one of them, and looked outside. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight before her. Mountains and trees, as far as the eye could see. The sky was black, and she quickly scanned the room for a clock. She found none. Feeling slightly dizzy, she slid down to the floor and sat leaning up against the wall. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wander to Vaughn. She forced herself to hope that he had gotten out of the water in time, but she knew that was unlikely. With a heavy heart, she held her sobs in, and only allowed herself a moment to focus on the sadness.

Then she was in control again. Her spy mentality took over and soon, she was devising an escape plan. She didn't know where she was, how big the house was, how many guards there were, how she was going to get out of the room, or how much tolerance her mother was going to have with her before killing her. The last one was important, but Sydney didn't dwell on it. Instead, she walked into the adjoining bathroom and started scanning the walls, ceiling, and floor. As she feared, there were no vents large enough to do her any good. She would just have to fight her way out of this one. She raised her head, preparing for battle, and walked over to the main door again. Thinking for only a moment about how to get them to open the door, she decided on the best approach. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, readied herself, and let out one high-pitched, ear-piercing, blood-curdling scream. It must have lasted ten solid seconds, before the two guards finished fumbling with the lock and burst through the door. Their expressions were that of shock, as they met Sydney's fists. It only took a few seconds to render them both unconscious, then Sydney was out the door. She looked all around her, but there were no other guards, so she slowly made her way down the hall. When she got to the first corner, she hesitated, wishing she had some sort of weapon, but then stilled as she heard footsteps coming toward her. She waited for the first person to come around the corner, and when they did, she elbowed them in the nose with a sick crunching sound. She jumped out and kicked another in the gut before twirling into a high roundhouse, nailing the guy behind her in the face. Someone grabbed her around the neck, so she spun out of his grasp, taking his arm with her and not letting go until she heard a satisfying crack. The next thing she knew, she was being tackled to the ground. She muffled a scream in the carpet when one of the men kicked her hard in her lower back. She stopped moving and pretended to be unconscious, sucking in ragged breaths. When a guard rolled her over and leaned in to take a closer look, one of her booted feet shot up, hitting him between the legs. He fell to the ground, immobilized, and Sydney got to her feet. She issued a few more injuries before being grabbed from behind and having her hands restrained. One of the guards took his revenge and punched her in the face numerous times, finishing with one to the stomach, which knocked the air out of her. She was carried, kicking, back to the bedroom, where she was thrown onto the bed. She whirled around, furious, and addressed her captor, "I suggest you release me now, before I break more bones." She smirked evilly and seemed to settle back into the pillows, but she was ready for any attack they could launch at her. One of the guards back-handed her hard across the face, causing another ugly bruise to appear faintly on her swollen cheek. She didn't flinch or make a sound, instead, she tilted her head toward the latest occupant of the room. "Come for the show? It was just about to get good," she told the figure who had suddenly appeared in the doorway. She gave her best bloody smile and kicked a nearby guard in the back, causing him to stumble forward and fall to the floor.. Two other guards pinned her legs to the mattress.

Irina was not happy. She should have predicted this from her daughter, because she would have done the same thing. Several of her men were now bleeding all over her expensive carpet, and she could hear one of them moaning down the hall over a broken bone that was sticking through the skin. Pride warred with anger as she stood with her arms crossed over her chest. Her lips were fiercely pursed, and she was slightly shaking all over. She angrily shouted a few Russian phrases at the guards, who in turn, hung their heads in shame. All except the two holding Sydney's legs down left the room, hurrying past their livid boss. She calmly turned and shut the door after them, taking a few breaths to steady herself. She turned back around and strolled slowly over to her daughter. "I must say, Darling, that was an outstanding performance you gave out there," she grinned knowingly. "Of course you do take after the best in the business."

Sydney narrowed her eyes at the woman, no longer feeling dejected or confused, just thoroughly pissed. "I hate you," she spat out.

"Now that really is sad, because I feel exactly the opposite for you," Irina's voice cracked slightly, but she recovered quickly and returned her daughter's glare.

Sydney was, once again, confused beyond all understanding. Had her mother just revealed a long-hoped-for truth, or was she simply acting again? The mysterious woman stepped even closer, leaning towards her as she said, "If you promise to be a good girl, I can dismiss my boys here," she patted one of the guards on the shoulder, "and we can have a little talk." Sydney thought only for a second before nodding her consent. The men got up and walked to the door. One of them turned when he was about to exit and shot Sydney a nasty look. She shot one back.

As the door closed, Irina motioned for Sydney to scoot over. When she did so, Irina sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back against the headboard. Their shoulders were lightly touching, and Sydney had to curb the impulse to grab onto her and never let go. She stared at the wallpaper instead and made a comment on the pattern. 

Irina didn't hear, because she was too focused on ignoring the urge to envelope her daughter in a huge embrace. She took a shaky breath and collected herself. "I suppose I should state the reason for my hasty exit earlier," she started. "Another guest had just arrived from the airport, and it was necessary for me to see to his accommodations."

Gaze still locked on the wall, Sydney asked, "Who?"

Irina released a breath as she said, "A friend of yours, I believe. We have yet to uncover his identity, but it will only be a matter of time until we do." She paused. "A team of my men retrieved him from a rather flooded hallway back at the club. This was your doing, no?"

Sydney's eyes abandoned the wall and shot to her mother's. "Vaughn? You have Vaughn? And he's alive?!" she exclaimed before thinking.

Irina laughed softly. "So his name is Vaughn. This sounds familiar to me," her forehead creased in thought for an instant before, "It is no matter. I am grateful for your assistance."

Sydney knew she should've been worried about giving away a fellow agent's name, but she couldn't summon the will to care. "Is he okay? Is he conscious? Can I see him?" she asked in rapid succession.

Irina laughed again, "Such questions! The answers, I believe, are yes, no, and later."

Sydney couldn't begin to name all the different emotions flowing through her at that moment, she just basked in the knowledge that Vaughn was alive. She imagined that she could feel his presence in the building, and somehow, that made everything a little easier to handle.


	6. The Arrival

Disclaimer: Please don't sue me. I own nothing.

  
  
  
  
  
  


A very groggy, very confused Vaughn regained consciousness as he was being taken from the vehicle. "How long had it been this time?" He wondered, as he tried to concentrate on the images whizzing past him. He must have been on a stretcher or something, because he could only see the sky. It was dark out, and he wondered briefly about the time. It was useless, though, seeing as how he didn't have a watch. He also didn't trust his voice, or his escorts, enough to ask. As he rolled on, he became more and more aware of the jarring bumps that the rough ground provided him. He passed underneath a tree that was brimming with some sort of fruit. An owl called from somewhere in the near distance, and he closed his eyes to the sound. This little ride would almost be relaxing, if he weren't so anxious about where it was leading. Finally, after minutes of bumpy gravel, he felt himself now being pushed on a smoother surface. He opened his eyes and almost gasped at the grandeur of the house in front of him. It was a true masterpiece of architecture; a seamless blend of neo-classical and gothic. There must have been at least four stories to it, and he could've sworn he saw an actual gargoyle sitting atop one of the balconies. He was rolled through the two gigantic front doors and was again amazed at the intricate, if not extravagant foyer before him. Even the molding at the top of the forty-foot ceiling appeared to be some kind of rich carved wood. His mouth agape, he slowly turned his head to the side, in order to stare into a spacious parlor on the other side of the antechamber. He was so caught up in his examination of the tremendous crystal chandelier above him, he didn't even hear the voice speaking to him.

"Pardon me, young man, but I fear it is necessary to draw your rapt attention to me for a moment," the same woman from before said. Vaughn jerked his head in her direction and got his first clear view of the person he suspected to be Sydney's mother. She was standing with her back rigid and her hands apparently clasped behind her back. He noticed that she was wearing a navy pinstripe pantsuit, and was built exactly like Sydney. "Ah, I have gotten your attention. Wonderful. Now we may proceed."

"Proceed to what?" Vaughn managed to croak out.

"Answering your many inquiries, of course," she replied. Vaughn nodded slightly, signaling for her to continue. "You are currently in my home. I fear I will not be able to divulge your location on a larger scale. You will be safe here. I have given specific orders to not have you harmed, unless you try to escape, of course," she told him.

"Of course," he rasped in a mocking tone. She gave him a warning look and he averted his eyes.

"As I was saying, if you believe that you can resist fleeing, I will have you unbound at the first convenient interval. If not, you are welcome to stay the way you are now, for your entire duration here," she paused, letting this soak in. "If you are freed, you will follow a strict set of guidelines that are as much for your protection as they are for ours. Any questions?"

Vaughn shook his head no.

"Good. Now, on to our next order of business. Who are you, and why were you in my underground laboratory?"

Vaughn made no motion, not even a blink. After a few seconds, Irina sighed.

"Very well, young man, have it your way for now. But know that I will learn those answers, one way or another," she locked eyes with him to convey her calm assurance of the previous statement. "Is there anything else you would like to know before you are escorted to your room?" she asked.

He remained silent for a second, thinking about whether or not he should ask his question. It could very well mess something up if she didn't know the answer. But if she did.... he would just have to take the chance. He had to know. "Is Sydney alright?"

The woman smiled faintly. She was impressed by this man's apparent dedication to her daughter. It was too bad she couldn't tell him. "I am very sorry, but I am afraid that I simply can not answer your question until you answer mine. It just would not be fair to me. We all must have our secrets, no?" She smiled menacingly and turned her back to him. She said something to one of his guards and started to walk away. 

Vaughn just couldn't let her go like that, and he yelled out to her. She stopped and turned, "Yes?"

"Who are you?" he asked.

She gave him a quizzical look, "I thought you already knew that."

"I have an idea," he stated.

She smiled at him, and for a second, she was the spitting image of Sydney. "My name is Irina, but perhaps you know me better as Laura," she said, and walked out of the room. 

Vaughn was in shock. He had suspected it, but nothing could've prepared him for the torrent of emotions that hit him when it was confirmed. She had been so close to him, within arms reach, and he could do nothing about it. A thought entered his mind, but he expelled it quickly. Of course she didn't recognize him, his father's death had been so long ago, and he didn't even look that much like him. He sighed as the thoughts continued to invade his helpless brain. "Just my luck," he thought. "The one woman I hate with all of my soul has virtually the same face as the woman I love with all of my heart." As he was being rolled into an elevator, he allowed himself one final thought on the subject, "This sucks."


	7. The Call

Disclaimer: Please don't sue me. I own nothing.

  
  


It was almost 5:30 in the morning when Jack's plane finally landed. He let the cantankerous old woman out of the row first, and then slowly stood, trying desperately to work the kinks out of his neck and back. After twisting in four different directions, a satisfying crack sounded from his lower back, and he sighed. It had been a very long flight, and a vexing one at that. He had thought a long time about his relationships, especially the tentative one he had with his daughter. There was now no doubt in his mind, he loved her more than anything else in the world, and he was determined to show her, at least a little more often. This silent declaration had spurred other, even more disturbing thoughts. He still hadn't heard from Sydney, and he was now officially worried. He couldn't risk calling her cell, because if she had been caught, it might impede her efforts of escape. Normally he would call Devlin, but the director hadn't known about this unauthorized mission, and if the call turned out to be unnecessary, he could get both young agents into a lot of trouble. He stretched once more in the tiny aisle, then retrieved his carry-on from the overhead compartment. He walked down the aisle to Will's still sleeping form. He stood over the boy for a moment, thinking how much he envied Will for his ability to sleep. Of course, Jack had given him a large enough dose of pain-killer and sedative to knock out a large animal.

He bent down and roughly shook Will's shoulder. "Wake up," he said when Will finally opened his heavy eyes, "We're here." And with that, Jack hauled the young reporter to his feet and pushed him to walk. They stumbled into the terminal five whole minutes later. They were the last passengers off the plane, and Jack had to catch Will before he fell a total of nine times. Jack didn't like the kind of attention they were getting and he dragged Will into the nearest restroom. Once inside, he waited until the other occupants left, then closed and locked the door. He walked Will over to one of the sinks and stuck his head under the steady stream of icy water. Will's eyes shot open and he started to cough. Jack let him slump to the ground and turned the water off. "You need to look conscious if we're going to get out of here without any questions," he told him.

Will looked up at the older man and was about to say something when a sudden nauseous feeling swept over him. He scrambled over to a stall while Jack patiently waited in the same spot. When Will reemerged, the color had actually returned to his cheeks. His mouth was bleeding again, but he appeared to be in a more aware state. Jack grinned and asked, "Feel better?"

"Ha ha! Has anyone ever told you that you have some serious compassion issues?" The two men stayed in the restroom a few more minutes and went over Will's cover story while he cleaned up. When they exited, they went straight to the parking lot and got in Jack's car. 

Half an hour later, Jack had finished describing Will's experience to Francie. He explained that Will had been mugged by two members of a street gang. They had thought he had gold fillings in his back teeth, so they promptly removed them with pliers. Jack had just luckily happened by the poor boy's unconscious body and had brought him straight to the apartment. Francie was shocked and promised to look after him. She thanked Jack profusely and asked if he would like something to drink. "No thanks Francie, but I appreciate the offer." He stood silently for a moment, then, "Out of curiosity, would you happen to know where Sydney is?"

Francie thought for a second before remembering the specific details her roommate had told her. "Oh yeah, she went to Seattle for a conference last night. She said she should be back sometime this morning."

"So she hasn't contacted you?" Jack questioned her.

"Nope. But I can tell her to give you a call when she gets in," Francie suggested.

Jack nodded. "That would be good. Thank you." Then he turned, said a short goodbye, and left.

Outside the apartment, the sky was lightening with the rising sun. Jack sat in the drivers seat of his car and stared into the distance. He had his usual mental list of things to ruminate over: Sloane, Devlin, matters of national security, his dry cleaning; but all he could think about was his missing daughter. It was a scary thing for any parent, but it became paralyzing when that parent knew the things that Jack knew. He couldn't bring himself to think of the horrible things his little girl could be going through at that very moment. He shook himself out of his thoughts and picked up his cell phone. He did a quick bug-sweep and then dialed a number.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


"Where is it? Where could it be? Could I have left it in the snack room? No, not there. Maybe in my secretary's cubicle? Nope, not there either. Oh, yeah! I put it down in Mike's office a few days ago. But Mike isn't at work yet, so his office would be locked. Hey, there's his secretary. I think she kinda likes me, maybe she'll let me in. Hey sweetie, wanna do me a favor?"

  
  


Eric Weiss was finally happy. He had his Yo-Yo back. He had been looking for it since the previous afternoon. Mike had gone home early, so he hadn't been in his office since the day before. Not that he would be welcome there anymore, anyway. He had really messed up with the ratting to Devlin thing. He hadn't meant to betray Mike's trust, he had just been fed up with Sydney's apparent manipulation of his best friend. He had done what he thought was the right thing at the time. He would just have to make it up to him with a very big pizza and a whole lot of beer.

Just as Weiss was about to walk out of his friend's office, the phone on his desk rang. He turned toward the sound and thought for a second before going to pick it up. "It could be important," he thought, and picked it up. "Michael Vaughn's office."

"Agent Vaughn? Is that you?" Jack asked, confused, excited, and even more worried, all at the same time.

"No, this is not him," Weiss paused and they both sat in silence for a minute before, "Who is this?"

Jack was getting very annoyed with the idiot on the other end of the line. "This is someone who's calling for Agent Vaughn. If you aren't him, and you don't know where I might be able to find him, I have no reason to continue this conversation."

"Whoa, someone's a little grumpy this morning." Weiss said, making a face.

Jack sighed and started speaking again, this time very slowly, as if to a child. "Who am I speaking to?"

Weiss imitated his slow rhythm, "My name is Agent Weiss, what's yours?"

"This is Agent Jack Bristow. Am I to assume you are an acquaintance of Agent Vaughn's?" He asked, his words back to their annoyed tone.

"Yes, Mr. Bristow, you can assume that," Weiss replied.

"How close of acquaintances are you?" Jack questioned.

"We're good friends. Why?" Weiss was getting confused by this conversation. It was too early to play mind games. He had just wanted his Yo-Yo back.

"I have a proposition for you, Agent Weiss. I feel I should warn you, it won't be authorized by the director of your department. If you feel that breaking protocol, on any level, would bother you, say so now." Jack had a plan. It could either be considered brilliant beyond brilliant, or the stupidest string of thoughts to ever cross his mind. At the moment he didn't care, he just needed to help Sydney.

Weiss remained silent for a few minutes. "Oh, what the hell, it's not like I've never broken protocol for a Bristow before." "What is the proposition?" he finally said.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


*****Famous last words? You'll see. Sorry the updates have been so few and far between. I can't blame it on my life anymore, so I'll have to blame my stunted brain. What can I say? Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Most times it doesn't. :)


End file.
